hadriel_logs | I'm off on my own here [CLOSED]

Its heartening to see Lance so enthusiastic about something. Rosen has resented how much has been piled onto Lance's plate over the last few weeks. Severe injuries with a difficult recovery, the possibility that his life was cut short before he sees 30, and complications with Maketh stirring up old hurts. Its too much, and though Lee knows that that is how life in the cave goes, it doesn't make it any easier to swallow.

Lance, from what Rosen has witnessed, is a good-hearted young man with immense talent. The hand the boy has been dealt is unyieldingly heartless.

But despite all this he finds himself chuckling as he fiddles with the latch to the door. "I took a pass at it when Curufin set it up, but I'll let the maestro put her through her paces," He grins playfully at Lance before pushing the door open. The piano, upright and set against the far wall, is unavoidably the first thing anyone would see when they walk in. Rosen wanted it that way.

As much as he likes it to appear otherwise, Lance's entire life has been filled with challenges and difficulties beyond what would normally be expected, and so he's used to dealing with them and moving on. Hadriel, and what happened at home before arriving, are no exceptions, and it's little moments like enjoying playing an instrument that make it easier to handle the others.

He returns Rosen's grin, then shifts his attention immediately when the door opens and he catches sight of the piano. In a flash he's turned sideways and slipped through the doorway past Rosen with the grace of someone who does this sort of thing all the time, taking over the lead on the way across the room; sorry about the lack of manners, Rosen.

"It looks really nice." He's not entirely sure what he actually expected--considering how hit or miss things are int his place--but he's impressed, pressing a few keys experimentally both to test the sound and to just do so, offering another smile at Rosen as he does.

Rosen just huffs in amusement when Lance cuts around him, mouth quirked in a half smile as he goes through the motions of shutting the door and taking off his cardigan. "Curufin made it all by hand." He makes his way over to Lance and the piano.

"Go ahead," he bends to adjust the bench before stepping back and gesturing to it, "give it a go. Though I'm afraid I don't have any sheet music yet so you'll have to make due with your memory for the time being."

"That's awesome." He has absolutely no idea how to make a piano even though he knows how one works, and as he continues testing keys he makes a mental note to send Curufin a message later telling him that it isn't just Rosen who appreciates his work. "It seems in tune, too." At least enough so that he won't bother messing with trying to tune it himself just yet; tweaking things can be a project for later.

But as Rosen gestures to the bench, Lance hesitates briefly. "Are you sure you don't want to go first?"

It is his piano, after all.

Lee raises a hand in gentle dismissal of Lance's question. "It is here 24/7, I will get my turn. But I have been waiting for days for you to be recovered enough to play. Are you going to keep an old man waiting even longer?"

He grins mischievously, dropping his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

"Show me what you've got, Dr. Sweets."

Lance considers that a moment, trying to decide if he should insist again, but then decides to give in; he does want to play, after all, so with another small grin he takes a seat at the bench.

He rests his hands on the keys, experimentally stretching out the fingers on his now mostly-healed right hand and miming a few note combinations, and is pleased to find that it isn't difficult or painful; it'll probably be a little sore after awhile, but nothing serious.

And now the question is what to play, especially since as a psychologist he knows he'd definitely read into the choice if he were Rosen. He could pick something classic but decides against it, mentally going over a few other songs he knows before finally picking something; he's not sure if Rosen would recognize it, and it's soft and hopeful and reminds Lance of Daisy.

So after a moment or two of making sure he remembers how to start he begins playing, well-practiced at this one--it was a favorite of people to request while he was doing his stint as a professional--and able to rely on muscle memory for it, trying not to be too self-conscious about it as he does so.

Rosen steps away as Lance begins to play, easing himself back to sit on an arm of the sofa, arms folded neatly across his chest. No, he doesn't recognize the song but still he lets it disarm him. His brown eyes close and he breathes deeply as he gives himself wholly to the act of listening.

Lance had not been exaggerating. More than simple aptitude technique, Lance has achievement the much more important skill of 'feeling', translating emotion into melody.

So much so that his mind wanders. It meanders in and out of snippets of memories seemingly at random. The bouncing curls of a very young Danielle, Gary's voice insisting that he should get to drive, the look on Rachel's face when she finally feels at ease in a space of her own, and even just the way morning light falls across the floor in the hallway of his house where he now lives alone.

When Lance finishes, his eyes open again, and he claps quietly but firmly. "Wonderful. Is it a personal favorite?"

Lance glances briefly in Rosen's direction as he moves to the sofa but then turns his attention back toward his playing, closing his own eyes as well and allowing himself to concentrate on what he's doing. It's calming and he relaxes more as he gets further through the song, swaying in the distinctive way that pianists do when they play, and remembers very clearly why he'd stuck with the instrument even with how busy his life has always been.

It's almost strange how just three and a half minutes can have such a profound centering effect, but it does and he casts a small smile at Rosen's applause. "Thank you. I guess you could say so, yeah." He hadn't really thought about it being so, but he's played it so many times and maybe it's the situation or being away from Daisy for awhile or who knows what else, but it feels especially meaningful to him this time. He knows the words too, of course, and could probably sing it, but he hasn't attempted singing since he's arrived and is a little afraid to try. Maybe next time he's alone.

"Now that I've tested the piano out, I think it's your turn." He comments, raising his eyebrows slightly at Rosen in an indication that he should really take a shot at it.

"If you insist," Rosen gathers himself back up with amusement, shuffling towards the bench and sliding into place. Its a bit surreal to find himself simply enjoying an afternoon in this place. No god-nonsense. No beasts. The city intact. Instead of panic and fear, its just two music nerds being excited about something as mundane as a piano. Something that, for its rarity in Hadriel, now seems magical.

He makes deft work of cracking his knuckles before placing his hands in position. And as if cued by a starter pistol his fingers are off in a feverish dance. While Lee has an extremely eclectic love of music, he's opting for something playful and fun Scott Joplin's Maple Leaf Rag , a rolling whirlwind of notes the proceed in a near constant teasing cycle. Its been over a year since he's been able to practice, the prison did not exactly have a piano available for him to use, so maybe two or three times he strikes an off key note but it is clear from his demeanor,shoulders bouncing with the leaping of his fingers, that these small mistakes by no means make it any less fun.

And for a man who has gone from a jail cell to being trapped in a cave, he momentarily feels wholly free

Lance stands and switches places with Rosen, giving him the piano bench and taking up a spot on the couch. He's actually a little surprised by the piece Rosen chooses; it's a familiar one, of course, but definitely a bit more lively than he would've thought Rosen would pick. It's also a nice display of skill, and a missed note here or there doesn't detract from that.

Besides, he can tell how much Rosen's enjoying playing it, and that's more important than anything else. It would've been difficult not to end up smiling as he listens and watches, and he thinks that the two of them might end up getting just as much out of music therapy as any of their potential patients.

Like Rosen did when Lance finished playing, Lance offers a small round of applause as the piece ends. "Awesome; there was a lot of energy in that." It's easy to play a complicated piece flatly, when thinking too much about it and not feeling it enough, but that wasn't the case here.

Rosen chuckles under his breath, letting himself slouch on the bench with his hands in his lap for a moment. "I don't really strike people as a person with energy, do I?"

He peeks back at Lance, expression thoughtful. Lee knows he doesn't. Button down shirts, dress slacks, graying hair, and a tendency to avoid unnecessary social interaction, he's the type who people would likely expect to yell "you kids get off my lawn".

Its funny because he's never seen himself that way. He spends his free time rummaging the boxes at old record stores, getting himself riled up a rare Herman's Hermits record or an original Creedence Clearwater Revival.

"Would you believe it if I told you I was at Woodstock?" He starts to get up, moving so that Lance can have his next go. "Though maybe you're too young to know what that is."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing." Lance responds; he doesn't typically strike people that way either, unless he's particularly excited about something, and it's an image he's very purposefully tried to cultivate. He can't do anything about looking young, but he can control how mature he appears through actions and sedate equals mature, for some reason.

He stands, moving to switch places with Rosen, offering a laugh. "Woodstock? Yeah, no, I've never heard of that, or record players, or horse-drawn carriages, or rotary phones, or anything else pre-1980s." He casts a grin in Rosen's direction, clearly being sarcastic, and honestly it isn't all that surprising for some reason that Rosen might've been at Woodstock.

He starts another song, also one which he memorized some time ago and so he can continue talking while playing. "Somehow I can imagine you as having been a Woodstock hippie."

Edited 2017-05-14 18:26 (UTC)

"While I do miss my horse-drawn carriage its the loss of the rock and chisel that really gets me right here," Lee makes an over-dramatic show of grief, thumping his fist to his chest twice before flopping gracelessly onto the couch. "Too skinny, shirtless, and covered in mud. There may have even been bellbottom jeans and a rainbow headband involved. But the best part was how livid my parents were."

They could tie him up in straight laces and drop him off at medical school, but his hair was always just a bit too long for their liking and his music too loud. They didn't really want a son anyway, they wanted a diploma and a degree they could hang up in their shrine of family successes and he gave them that. They could pretend the rest didn't exist.

Rosen focuses on the ceiling as Lance plays. "You seem to have a penchant for contemplative music."

Lance laughs at shakes his head a little at the dramatics, glancing back over to the side at Rosen briefly as he continues playing. "What a mental image. You were one of those kids, huh?"

It's said teasingly, not judgmentally; Lance had definitely had his own fair share of being a difficult kid, and doing things that annoyed his parents just because he could. It had been a relatively short phase, but he'd made up for it with intensity.

At the comment on the song, Lance considers how to answer for a moment. "I guess you could say that, yes. But this is... A hopeful song. So was the last." And sure, he knows what that probably says about what he's feeling--he could use the hope, even if it's only while he's playing the songs--but it's not like it'd take a professional to guess that.

Boney hands rub over Lee's face as he laughs, nodding. "I was, I'm afraid. Parents played Debussy, I played Dylan. But it was the 60s, after all. Summer of love, war protests, and all that." He eyes Lance from between his fingers. "And what sort of kid were you?"

Rosen then quiets down a bit, hands dropping to his stomach as he considers Lance's explanation about his choices of songs. "Are you trying to give hope or trying to find it," he asks softly.

"I can't judge; I had a metal phase." Or still has one, but details.

He focuses on the song he's playing for several seconds at the question, contemplative, because there are a few ways he could answer that would all be true. It's just a matter of how much he wants to say, but Rosen already knows a lot and so that means he has to guard what he says less. "Depends on how old I was. But after I was adopted, I know I was kind of a nightmare kid until right before I started university." It's an exaggeration--he could've been a whole lot worse--but he did cause a lot of trouble he wishes he could take back.

As far as the question about hope, it's a good one and he gives a small shrug even while he plays. "I don't know. I'd like to say both." If it's working, anyway.

Rosen's very briefly face betrays his distaste for metal. Lance has very quickly become one of the few people for whom he will remove his professional pokerface. And it is undeniable that metal is one of the few forms of music he's never really managed to get behind. One shriek in and he finds himself regretting the existence of ears. But he'll keep that to himself for the moment. While he'll happily poke fun about Sweets' age, he finds teasing him about musical tastes would be hypocritical given what he's just told Sweets about own past of seeking out music that the older generations would revile.

Adopted. Nightmare child.

"You've come a long way from 'nightmare child," Lee murmurs. He can't really say it surprises him that the man had a rebellious stage. Or stages. Or even that he was adopted. In fact it makes his knee-jerk reaction to prove himself all the more understandable. And makes his capacity for compassion and pacifism all the more poignant. "I'd say that alone gives hope."

Lance catches that brief expression and grins to himself; that's usually the reaction he gets, and part of the reason he doesn't typically admit his enjoyment of the genre, but it doesn't bother him from Rosen and in fact he'd said it specifically to see if he could provoke that response from him in the first place.

The more complicated ending to the song gives him a good excuse not to respond to Rosen's comments right away, rapidly shifting his hands around the keyboard to tap out the correct notes at the correct time, although his previous grin does transition a little into a softer smile. Yes, he's come a long way, and beating all the odds to get there is something he's quietly and deeply proud of.

But even this small amount of sharing is suddenly enough for him, and as the song ends he massages his hand a little, idly, finding it's not nearly as bad as he might've expected; a little sore and getting slightly stiff, but not enough so that he couldn't keep playing. Still, he'll take a break, and it's Rosen's turn anyway.

He stands and heads toward the couch, offering another small smile at Rosen to make sure it's obvious he isn't upset or anything despite suddenly stopping responding. "Your go."

The silence doesn't go unnoticed, but Lee doesn't press. For the moment there is no need to. This is not an appointment, Lance is not here as a patient but a friend.

Therefore Rosen hoists himself up off the couch with little chaat and little ceremony, starting for the piano before taking a small detour to the kitchen. With a firm tug he pulls open the fridge and grabs for an ice pack which he promptly tosses Lance's way. "Ice it a bit," he nods, gesturing to the man's injured hand. "It'll prevent inflammation."

He then moves back to the piano bench, humming a bit as he tries to think of what to play. What comes is something he hasn't played in years, and what he used to almost exclusively play for a very small Danielle. It was her favorite. Positioning his hands, he embarks on Simon and Garfunkel's classic "Bridge Over Troubled Water"

Lance catches the pack in his left hand--having the sense not to go for it with the other--and doesn't argue, carefully applying the pack and finding it immediately helps. "Thanks."

When Rosen starts playing, Lance leans back a little on the couch and settles in to listen; he recognizes the song, of course, but it's such a difference from what Rosen picked before that he has to comment on it. "This is definitely a change from your last choice." And the underlying question, of course, is if there's a reason for it.

There's a small huff in response, its a breathless chuckle that gets lost in the momentum of his playing. "Joplin is for fun, Simon and Garfunkel are for the heart."

Take that as you'd like, Lance. Either he's being uncharacteristically romantic or he's hinting because he's a man who can't say anything about himself outright. Not after years of trying to fold pieces of the debris from his life deeper and deeper beneath his reason and logic, to hide his hurt and his shame beneath boards of analysis and theory.

As the song comes to a close he swivels around on the bench to look at Lance directly.

"Are you up for another go, or do you need a longer rest?"

Lance just mentally files that comment away, taking note of it, and it only adds to what he's already pretty sure of; like him, Rosen is much more the type to give subtle clues or insinuations than outright say much about himself or how he's feeling.

Normally, that wouldn't deter Lance much--saying he's been known to pry is an understatement--but the situation is more than a little different here than it had been at home, and so he's been refraining from taking advantage of every opening. He really can't afford to annoy or drive away the few people--or, really, at this point the only person--that he can rely on and trust, and so as much as he wants to ask, he doesn't.

Instead he's quiet until the song ends, and hesitates briefly at the question. He'd definitely rather just play another song, but he also doesn't want to overdo it with his hand and end up setting himself back. This is a good time to get to the other part of what he'd wanted to discuss today, so after a moment he makes up his mind.

"Actually, um, there's something I wanted to ask your opinion on." Or advice, really; even though he's already made up his mind on what he's going to do, he's not completely certain how he's going to go about it. He's also not sure it's a great idea at all, but he's already committed.

Rosen reaches up to brush a few stray silver hairs back into place, small wrinkles forming just beneath the bridge of his glasses as his curiosity is piqued. The muscles of his jaw flex a little, drawing his mouth a bit tight in thought before he nods and shrugs his narrow shoulders.

"You are always free to ask me anything, Lance."

Lee then sets his hands palms down on the tops of his knees, waiting intently.

Edited 2017-05-15 19:35 (UTC)

Right. Alright, well, at least he's willing to listen, although Lance realizes he probably should've thought out what he was going to say and ask a bit more before jumping into it. Oh well, too late for that.

"Normally, I wouldn't... Disclose patient identities, but nothing about this place or situation is normal." And he's not particularly concerned about what Rosen'll do with the information, so he doesn't feel too guilty; besides, he's concerned enough about Maketh's behavior that he's has the very real worry that a session might go... Badly, to put it lightly, and he'd like at least someone else to have an idea of what might've happened if it does.

"But yesterday, Maketh asked if I would agree to talk to her formally. I'm going to meet with her later this evening, but I'm not... Entirely sure the best way to handle this." He's never counseled someone that he's sure doesn't like him--and the feeling is very mutual on--to this extent, let along someone he thinks might be dangerous; Zack is the closest he's come, but that's still a very different situation.

There's a long silence as Rosen takes in what he's been told, followed by a slow exhale. There's a trend developing of Lance seemingly wanting to always run into the flames of a burning house to be certain not even a goldfish was left behind. Its admirable, and Rosen feels an odd, unwarranted sense of pride at it, but it also flares a nagging worry at the back of his mind.

So its not really a surprise, but Rosen has seen too many young people die recently.

Then again with what evidence they have from Lance's injuries--

He stops his thoughts from wandering there and narrows his eyes in order to focus his attention on the issue at hand. Lance is asking him for advice, not pity or handholding.

"Well. Carefully is the obvious answer, but you already know that." He draws himself up straighter where he sits, crossing his arms in thought.

"I won't ask you to disclose any patient information, but has Maketh confided anything in you as of yet that might give you a sense of what you are entering into?"

He's going to feel this out before he says anything definitive.

The silence causes Lance some concern; although he's already decided what he's going to do, there's still a more than sizeable part of him that needs approval from people whose opinions he respects, and Rosen falls into that category.

At least when he responds it doesn't seem to be negatively, at least not yet, and Lance gives a half smile and headbob that's clearly 'well, of course' at the first comment. He's definitely planning to be careful.

The question, though, gives him a long pause of his own. "Not really, no, aside from that she asked because someone else wanted her to." Which means Maketh might not be as invested in the idea as she might've been if she'd chosen on her own to speak with him, which is cause for some concern. Their last conversation had also been... Volatile, and confusing, and Lance finds the fact that he can't quite predict how she's going to react to things to be somewhat stressful to deal with.

Ah. That makes more sense. Though he doesn't know her well, Rosen had found it almost unbelievable that Maketh asked for this kind of help of her own volition. But if someone else had asked, it seems to make more sense, at least depending on who it was who asked. Rosen doesn't believe that just anyone could get Maketh to bend.

"Do you know the situation in which she was asked? Was there a compromise made or a no-strings attached request?" Because if someone was holding something over Maketh's head, this situation could slide south very fast. But if it was simply the request of a concerned friend, this could actually be a good step forward.

"When is your first appointment?"

"I don't, but she said it was 'someone who matters' who asked her." So presumably this is a favor for a friend, not a part of some sort of deal or agreement.

"Tonight, at eight." Lance answers, leaning back a little on the couch and pulling one knee up toward his chest, before suddenly realizing he shouldn't have his shoes on someone else's couch and putting his foot back down on the floor.

Lee nods slowly. That is encouraging. "Sometimes people need that bit of friendly pushing to take that step." The comment is mostly said to himself as he has no doubt it would only be redundant to Lance.

He catches Lance's fidgeting and chuckles, waving a hand. "Don't worry about the couch. Its not like I paid for any of this." And he'd rather Lance felt comfortable at his place.

"I won't lie to you and say I don't have my concerns. Particularly given your recent conflicts with her. But I also think this has the potential to be a very good thing." Potential is a key word there.

"Where are you having this appointment?"

He nods also, having thought the same, and there's another good hint offered by that situation too; there's someone close enough to Maketh to ask her to talk to someone. That's good both for Maketh's sake in terms of having someone support her, and as a sign that she can form that sort of bond.

Lance offers a faint smile at the assurance about the couch, making a mental note to remember that, although he's too self-conscious to take advantage of the permission just yet. Instead he nods a little at Rosen's next statements, glad that they seem to be in agreement on it being worth an attempt. "I hope so. If the more concerning aspects of her behavior have a specific underlying reason that could be resolved..." Then there would be a huge benefit both to her and to anyone who deals with her.

As for where the meeting will be--

"At the Clinic, in one of the rooms toward the back. I told her no weapons, although if I don't come back I'd appreciate if you'd go looking for me." It's said dryly and mostly as a joke, because he doubts that it would go that badly, but still.

Edited 2017-05-19 01:45 (UTC)

The joke will still earn him a 'thats not funny' scolding look, but Rosen won't kick up dust over it, except to say, "That was my plan to begin with."

And it was his primary reasoning for wanting to know when and where the appointment was taking place. He respects the work they do and more over he respects Lance too much to ever go so far as to try and spy or eavesdrop on an appointment. As a professional, as a colleague, and as a friend that would be an egregious insult to their relationship. But that doesn't mean Lee doesn't want to have his ear to the ground.

"So let me ask you this. What would be your goal for this first appointment. When you, ideally, walk out of that room what do you hope to have achieved?"

Lance responds to the look with a brief raise of his eyebrows, an acknowledgement without agreeing--sure, the joke might've been a little morbid, but more than warranted--although he's glad Rosen was already planning on making sure he didn't end up dead somewhere without anyone knowing.

The next question he doesn't have a completely clear answer to; normally he'd go into a session, even a first one, with a distinct plan. But this isn't a normal situation, and not one he has a good sense of yet either.

"Since she agreed to speak with me there must be something she wants to change, whether she's aware of it consciously or not. I'd like to have a better idea of what that is, a therefore a direction for how to proceed in resolving it. It'd also be helpful if I can get a better sense of the cause of her more concerning behavior." Because there are lots of things that could prompt the traits that really worry him about her, and some of them are far better than others.

As Lance speaks Rosen gets up striding across the room and into the kitchen area. He's still listening but this whole conversation has reminded him of something, so he begins rummaging through a drawer.

"Have you ever had potentially aggressive or hostile patients before, Lance?" Lee assumes there is a high likelihood that Lance has, but on the off-chanace that he's only ever seen willing and agreeable patients, he wants to know. He finds what he's looking for and comes back over.

"Not necessarily for any immediate purpose, but I want you to have one." He's holding out a key to Lance. "I know you have your own place, but if you ever needed someplace else that is secure, private....or even if you just want to use the piano when I'm not home."

Lance watches him curiously, although it's clear Rosen's still listening so he doesn't stop talking, although the question he gets in response is a bit unexpected.

"Not to an extent that caused me any concern, no." This is actually an area Lance has been fortunate in; agents could be temperamental at times, especially if they were being evaluated for an infraction, but aside from instances of having some choice words sent his way none of them have ever been aggressive in a way that worried Lance. The rare patients he's deal with that weren't agents had been similarly agreeable; emotions might run high at times, but none were ever causes for concern.

He tilts his head slightly to the side, eyebrows furrowed a little, as Rosen returns and holds out the key; he realizes what it's for just as Rosen explains, and is torn between being surprised and somewhat touched by the offer. After a moment he reaches out to take the key, gratitude showing clearly in his expression. "Thank you. I really appreciate it, and I'll try to ensure that playing the piano is the only reason I need to use it."

He's going to try to be really careful and make it not necessary, but the fact of having somewhere safe to retreat to aside from his own place is reassuring and it means a lot to him that Rosen both cares about and trusts him that much.

I'm off on my own here [CLOSED]

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